


Lock and Key

by lionhead



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Rimming, slight roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23472412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionhead/pseuds/lionhead
Summary: Thatcher likes to think he’s in charge and Thermite likes to pretend to let him, but really, he’s wrapped around Thermite’s little finger.
Relationships: Mike "Thatcher" Baker/Jordan "Thermite" Trace
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	Lock and Key

**Author's Note:**

> There's no purpose to this aside from just writing smut while self-isolating. Quaran-porn, if you will. You won't find any plot here, but I hope y'all think it's hot. ;)

Thermite heard the door to his apartment open and shut, though the shutting was a borderline slam. He expected this. After spending most of his day off harassing Thatcher through text messages, he knew it would go one of two ways - either Thatcher would come home extremely annoyed or extremely horny.

Not that the text messages were inappropriate. In fact, they started out pleasantly innocent. A selfie of Thermite with his goggles on, spatula in hand and a caption that said, “Cooking bacon. Safety first!” and from that point on, he’d made it a game of how far he could push it. One of him vacuuming. One of him sweaty after coming home from a run. Another of him in the bathroom mirror, half shaved, upper body exposed. The last one consisted of him eating a banana with a cheeky wink.

“Hey, babe,” Thermite said when he saw Thatcher approaching him, but he didn’t get a response before the older man stooped over to press his mouth to Thermite’s, both hands firmly pushing into his hair and tilting his head back to sufficiently deepen the kiss. It took Thermite by surprise, but not enough to prevent him from immediately lifting into it, parting his lips to allow Thatcher access with his tongue.

A firm hand pressed against Thermite’s chest to keep him from getting too greedy, pushing him back onto the couch and leaving him breathless as Thatcher broke off their kiss. The other hand unceremoniously went for the button of Thermite’s pants.

“Why is it I get _less_ work done when you’re not at the base?” Thatcher questioned, a displeased tone in his voice. He pushed up at Thermite’s shirt, exposing the younger man’s torso, then his chest, and his shoulders, until he was able to lift it over Thermite’s head and toss it aside. Thatcher lowered himself to press his lips against Thermite’s neck, teeth grazing at the skin, nipping at him maybe a little more sharply than he normally would, but he was annoyed after all.

Thermite inhaled through his teeth, daringly providing Thatcher with an answer, “Well, it’s probably because you’re not here to keep me in line.” He could feel Thatcher smile into the crook of his neck, so he continued as he wrapped his arms around the Brit’s neck, fingering at the hairline at the nape, “You know, you’re not here to… give me my orders. Sir.”

Thatcher hummed low in his throat, lifting his head to look at the coy smile on his partner’s lips. His hands trailed down Thermite’s waist, hooking his fingers into the top of his pants so he could impatiently tug them down. The outline of Thermite’s arousal was already apparent through the thin fabric of his boxers. Thatcher didn’t even try to hide the lecherous look on his face when he sat back to take in the view.

“Then turn over, recruit,” he ordered. He crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Thermite twist around and reposition himself, thrusting his ass enticingly up into the air. Thatcher smirked and ran his hands over Thermite’s clothed behind, fingers giving him a firm squeeze before pulling down his underwear. He briefly lamented not getting to enjoy the looks he was about to coax out on Thermite’s face, but he’d seen them enough times that they were easily committed to memory.

Thatcher’s hands made their way back up to the supple mounds of Thermite’s ass, thumbs rotating in circles to tease the cheeks apart and run along the dip between them. He could just barely hear Thermite moan his name into the arm of the couch as the pad of his thumb pressed against his hole.

“I can’t hear you,” Thatcher quipped, halting his movement.

Thermite turned his head to look back over his shoulder as he repeated himself, “I said, Mike, _please_.” His voice had a borderline desperate lilt to it that made Thatcher suspect he’d been expecting - maybe even counting on - getting fucked when Thatcher got home and while he was more than happy to oblige, he wasn’t about to make it quick.

“That’s quite the casual way to refer to your commanding officer,” Thatcher replied, leaning down close enough for Thermite to feel a hot breath and the hair on Thatcher’s face bristling against the sensitive skin of his behind.

“Please, sir?” Thermite whined in response, the words no sooner leaving his mouth before he could feel a warm, wet sensation as Thatcher teased his tongue into him ever so slightly. He tried to arch closer, but the firm grasp of Thatcher’s hands held him in place, groping him roughly enough to leave red marks where his fingers dug in. He was quick to render Thermite’s attempt to get closer unnecessary as he dragged his tongue from the base of his balls to his asshole before delving into him as far as he could manage. Thatcher’s index finger pushed in alongside his tongue to further open him up, eliciting the most debaucherous of moans from Thermite as he gripped at the sofa armrest. Thatcher’s other hand dipped between Thermite’s legs, his large, calloused palm cupping his balls while two fingers stroked along the underside of his cock.

Thatcher seldom did anything delicately and this was no exception. It was wet and messy and desperate, and he was leaving Thermite a shuddering wreck beneath him.

Thermite was torn between bucking forward into Thatcher’s touch and backward toward his mouth, his body growing warmer with every passing moment the older man tongue-fucked him until he was just as abruptly left wanting for more when Thatcher pulled away, sitting back on his heels and licking his lips. Thermite could feel the couch shift as Thatcher stood up from where he had been, and he quickly turned around, prepared to indignantly protest.

Thatcher held up a finger, causing Thermite to stop short. “Stay there,” he ordered. The authority in Thatcher’s voice reverberated through the living room, sending a thrill down Thermite's spine. He bit at his lower lip and nodded obediently. “And don’t touch,” Thatcher warned before walking out of the room. He was only gone a few short moments before returning, tossing a bottle of lube down beside an expectant, frozen in place Thermite.

“Now you can touch. Get yourself ready, recruit.” Thatcher stood there, looming over a very vulnerably positioned Thermite, eyes hungrily taking in the sight. As Thermite grabbed the bottle and coated his fingers with the slippery liquid, Thatcher unbuttoned his own pants. He let them drop as he watched Thermite reach back and slip two lubed fingers into himself. Thatcher hummed in approval and pushed away his own underwear, erection springing forth, then moved to sit back down on the couch. He picked up the now forgotten bottle to slick himself up, the sounds of Thermite panting beside him making him throb in his hand.

“Jordan,” Thatcher mumbled, his voice gruff with longing. He had no interest in continuing their little power play, he just wanted to feel his boyfriend around him. He reached over, grasping at Thermite’s wrist to coax him over.

Thermite bit back a sigh as he pulled his hands away and lifted himself from the couch, moving to straddle Thatcher but was stopped short by strong hands on his waist guiding him to spin around and instead position him with his back to the Brit. Thermite purred and did as he was bid, a hand fumbling back to wrap around the base of Thatcher’s dick to hold it steady as he slowly lowered himself onto it, inch by inch. The time he took was agonizingly drawn out, the infamous ‘disciplined’ trait everyone praised Thermite for having only coming out when it was most inconvenient, it seemed.

It took Thatcher every last ounce of willpower to keep his hips from bucking up, though it was worth it to not only watch himself disappear inside Thermite, but to listen to the absolutely delicious sound of the other man groaning as he did so.

“Oh fuck, babe, that’s good,” Thermite gasped as he took Thatcher all the way in. “No one else has ever managed to make me feel like this, you know.”

“Like what?” Thatcher inquired. He tried to mask the unmitigated yearning in his voice, wishing the other man would just _move_ already, but he took the bait nonetheless. As he awaited the answer, he slid a hand away from Thermite’s waist, trailing it up his stomach and over his chest, until he reached his neck. Fingers splayed and moving up beneath his chin, he eased Thermite’s head back, two fingers reaching to caress at his lower lip. 

“Like I’m a lock and you’re the key,” he answered before taking the opportunity to suck those fingers into his mouth, lips wrapping greedily around them.

Thatcher went to let out a laugh, but it came out more like a stilted grunt of arousal than anything else. It was such a corny declaration and under any other circumstance he would have given Thermite shit for it. But right now, it was clear Thermite knew just how to appeal to Thatcher’s possessive nature, and the implication behind that statement… Well, Thatcher relished in the thought that he and he alone could give Thermite what he wanted.

And as Thermite started to move his hips, riding the rock hard cock inside him, it was very obvious what he wanted. His tongue suggestively slid over the digits in his mouth as he reached for Thatcher’s other hand, guiding it to his own neglected arousal. Thermite’s hand remained atop Thatcher’s as they both began stroking his length in tandem, all while Thatcher pressed his face into the crook of Thermite’s neck, breathing heavily against his skin.

Somehow, Thatcher found himself no longer leading this tryst and the pace was all dictated by his lover. Not that he was complaining.

“Ah…” Thermite’s lips parted, letting the fingers slip free as he leaned his head back onto Thatcher’s shoulders. He was rocking his hips down faster now, harder, desperate. His hand no longer directed Thatcher’s but instead just followed its course as the older man quickened his strokes. He could vaguely make out words of encouragement being muttered against his shoulder, but the mounting pleasure made everything a blur.

An incoherent stream of yes and please and _fuck_ came tumbling from Thermite, his whole body tensing for a brief moment before shuddering to climax, strings of semen dripping down over the pair of hands still wrapped around his softening dick.

Thatcher would never admit it aloud, but it was the sigh of pure satisfaction that followed Thermite’s orgasm, the knowledge that he was the key to deriving that pleasure from him that triggered his own release, drawing out yet another satisfied moan from his partner as he thrust into him a final time. He came inside Thermite, hard and without warning, aside from the accompanying throttled groan of bliss.

The excess fluid dripped onto Thatcher’s lap when the Texan pulled away and readjusted to stretch out across his lap, laying back onto the couch. They sat in their mess, chests heaving, catching their breath for what seemed like forever. It was Thatcher who spoke first.

“Why is it you always let me believe I’m the one calling the shots?” He glanced at Thermite out of the corner of his eye as a smirk crept up the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, babe. I like when you tell me what to do.”


End file.
